


Rule 48

by xxpotatogirlxx



Category: NCIS
Genre: Crime Fighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Revenge, Suspense, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-03-07 22:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13445112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxpotatogirlxx/pseuds/xxpotatogirlxx
Summary: When the NCIS team foils a serial killer, he takes one of their own in retaliation. The key to his survival will be following one critical Gibbs Rule. Set near the end of Season 15, sometime after the events of 15x07 ("Burden of Proof").





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Background/Introduction: This story would take place sometime around the end of Season 15. They seem to be setting up Gabriel Hicks from 15x07 as this season’s Big Bad, so this is my version of how it all might come to a head. In that episode (“Burden of Proof”), did anyone else notice that the NCIS team member who most accurately fit the killer’s victim profile was Torres? Male, “notably strong,” young, dark hair, etc. So, if Hicks were to pick a team member to attack (obviously to hurt/one-up Gibbs), he would be my most logical guess. The actual storyline on the show probably won’t turn out this way, but what the heck, I’ll give it a go anyway. Rated T for some violence and mild language. Enjoy!

“Always keep your hands up, Nicky!” his father urged. He held up his hands palms-up. “Try again.”

Nick took a breath, his bare toes digging into the scraggly grass of their tiny front yard. He bounced a couple times like the fighters he saw on TV, clenched his hands into fists, and punched his father’s hand with all his nine-year-old might.

Before he could recover, his father’s right hand lashed out, smacking him lightly in the ear. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to give him a little wake-up call.

“You’re still dropping your left,” his dad said patiently. “You have to keep your guard up at all times, mijo. Otherwise you leave yourself open to a counterstrike every time you attack. Try again.”

Nick scowled in concentration, and punched again. This time, he kept his other elbow up, and was able to block his father’s attempt to hit back. He smirked.

His dad smiled. “There you go. Remember, defense is just as important as offense. This time do a right-left combo. And—”

“Keep my hands up,” Nick finished. He punched with his right, then his left, his fists dwarfed by his father’s calloused palms. His father surprised him with a swipe at his head, but Nick was able to duck just in time.

“Good!” his dad said, beaming. “Always listen to your instincts. They’ll see a hit coming before your eyes will.”

His father placed his hands on Nick’s slim shoulders and looked him square in the eye, man to man. “The outcome of a fight isn’t decided by whoever hits first, or harder. It’s not even about who’s physically stronger. It all comes down to whoever figures out their opponent’s weakness and how to use it against him. Being able to take a punch is a much greater skill than being able to throw one. Got it?”

Nick nodded, understanding as best as a mere child could. 

His father smiled, clapping his son’s shoulders one more time, then settling back into his boxer’s stance. “Again.”

-(x)-

Nick jolted awake, his head smacking against something _hard_. He became immediately aware of a pain in his head, somehow both sharp and throbbing at the same time. He groaned, lifting his hands to rub his eyes. 

Except, his hands couldn’t move. Instead he felt the burn of rope chafing his wrists, secured behind his back to the point that his shoulders ached. He froze. 

Nick took a breath, tamping down on his rapidly accelerating heartbeat, systematically reviewing every single bit of training that had been drummed into him at FLETC. First step: Take stock of the situation. His hands were tied, as were his ankles. He’d obviously been knocked out with a blow to the head. And he was most definitely in the trunk of a moving car. Bad news all around.

_What the hell happened?_

The last thing he remembered… He’d been following a lead on their current case: tracking down Gabriel Hicks. They’d finally discovered evidence linking Hicks to the four unsolved serial murders that had been committed all over the DC area over a decade ago. Hicks had known they were on his ass, and seemed determined to burn the whole world to the ground rather than come quietly. He’d even gone so far as to target his former attorney, Jessica Schafer, but Gibbs had made it to her in time to stop him. And then Hicks had vanished. They hadn’t been able to catch even the slightest trace of him in over a week.

Nick blinked hard a couple times, trying to clear his concussion-addled thoughts. He could figure out what had happened to get him into this mess later. Right now he needed to get free. No one ever got tied up and thrown into a trunk for beneficial reasons.

He tried kicking at the trunk lid above him, but whoever had taken him hadn’t just tied his wrists and ankles—they’d tied them _together_. He could barely wriggle around, let alone have a chance at breaking out. 

Just then, the car took a hard right turn, slamming Nick’s head against the side of the trunk. Through his own muffled curse, he could hear the tires rumbling along an uneven surface, the car shaking and creaking. They must have left pavement behind and gone off-road. 

This was just getting worse and worse.

After a couple more minutes of fruitless pulling at his bonds, he felt the car slow down, then ease into a stop.

A door opened, then slammed shut. Slow, even footsteps crunched lightly toward the back of the car. Nick tried to roll into a position that would allow him to launch himself at his captor once the trunk was opened, but tied up like that he simply couldn’t support his own weight in any position. 

A key grated in the trunk’s lock, and then it popped open. Golden evening light cut through the dusty darkness, and Nick blinked up at the smiling person holding up the lid.

“Hello, Agent Torres,” Gabriel Hicks said.


	2. Chapter 2

Nick stared up at Hicks, ice-cold hatred flooding his veins. 

Hicks sucked his teeth nonchalantly. “Now, now,” he said. “Don’t look at me like that. You all must have known this coming from the moment Gibbs got between me and Jessica.”

“Well, at least you decided to pick on someone your own size,” Nick snapped. “Though I have to say, tying me up? Very brave. You must be so proud of yourself.”

Hicks laughed. “You know what? You’re right. Going after Jessica would have been small game. _You’re_ going to be a lot more fun to play with, I can tell.”

“Yeah, you’re going to be having a lot of fun while Gibbs puts a couple bullets in you.”

“Unfortunately, Gibbs won’t be joining us,” Hicks replied coolly. “I doubt your team even realizes you’re missing yet. Not that they’ll care. Anyone who spends two minutes with you people can see clearly you’re the odd man out.”

Nick clenched his jaw, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wouldn’t let a single word this snake was saying get under his skin. Nick believed in Gibbs and the team. He believed they would find him, one way or another. Whether they found him before or after Hicks had murdered him was still up for debate, but Nick could take comfort in the knowledge that even if they couldn’t save him, they sure as hell would avenge him.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Hicks said, reaching into the trunk. 

Nick wriggled and threw his bodyweight around, but in such a tight space, there was nothing he could do to keep Hicks from grabbing the thick knot that bound his wrists and ankles together and dragging him out of the trunk.

The coarse upholstery of the trunk scraped against his hands and face, and the edges of the trunk dug into his bones painfully. Nick cursed and thrashed the whole way out, crashing to the ground in a heap. 

They had pulled off the road onto a dirt path into the woods. The light of the sunset filtered through all the budding leaves, and there was a chilly snap to the air signaling that winter had yet to fully relinquish its hold on the world. It might have been pretty under different circumstances.

Hicks grabbed for the ropes again, but Nick ferociously threw every scrap of strength he had into yanking away. Hicks fumbled his hold, but all it did was send Nick slamming into the car. His elbow smashed against the tail light, breaking the red glass. Luckily he was wearing a long-sleeve shirt, which protected him against getting cut up. It still hurt though.

Nick landed on the ground, awkwardly on his back like a turtle. Something sharp bit into his fingertips. 

Hicks sighed. “Now, what did you do that for? What did that accomplish?”

Nick scrabbled in the dirt behind his back for the piece of glass. “I’m gonna have to give you a ticket for that busted tail light,” he quipped, doing whatever he could to keep Hicks’ attention away from what his hands were doing. There! His fingers closed around the glass fragment and he clenched it inside his fist, ignoring the feeling of the sharp edge slicing into his palm. 

Hicks snorted a laugh. He took a few steps over to the side of the car and opened the driver’s side rear door. He reached inside and pulled out a metal baseball bat.

Nick watched as Hicks swung the bat a few times as if warming up, using it to stretch his arm and shoulder muscles. 

_I’m in so much trouble_ , Nick thought. But he stayed calm. After a decade in deep undercover work, he could honestly say he’d been in worse situations before.

Hicks sighed with satisfaction, then looked back down at Nick. “Ready?”

Nick just continued to glare at him.

Hicks nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

It felt like he was being dragged for miles—and over every knobby root and pointy rock this side of the Potomac. The whole way, Nick thrashed and kicked about, spitting every curse he knew in English and Spanish. Every so often he managed to throw Hicks off balance—even managed to knock him over once—but the bastard would just tighten his grip on the ropes and trudge further into the woods, dragging Nick behind him like a sack of rocks.

Nick kept the precious shard of glass clenched tight in his fist, holding tighter and tighter despite the feeling of warm blood seeping out of his palm. He didn’t dare try to saw through the ropes while they were still moving—if he dropped it, he was dead. Period.

When Hicks finally stopped, dumping Nick at the base of a gnarled old oak tree, Nick’s knees looked like they’d been through a wood chipper. His jeans were ripped through, blood oozing from countless stinging cuts. The rest of his body wasn’t much better off. The front of his shirt was streaked with dirt and torn in a couple places, and his neck and back were one solid ache from being tied up in such an awkward position. 

Nick managed to pick himself up to a kneeling position with the tree at his back, wincing as he did so. Hicks sat down a few feet in front of him, his legs crossed and the bat casually resting on his knees. He was panting slightly, his forehead shining with sweat.

“Tired?” Nick said. “You know we could do this some other time if you need a break.”

Hicks chuckled, his teeth flashing like a predator’s. “Oh, Agent Torres, I’m so glad it was you. You know, I thought about taking Agent McGee instead. Gibbs clearly has a soft spot for him. Or maybe I could have even had a go at that tall British guy. That would have been a fun challenge, don’t you think?”

Nick refused to react to the chilling thought of one of his friends being here in his stead. He needed to keep Hicks talking and preening as long as possible. He slipped the piece of glass from his hand slowly, so as to keep his movements hidden from Hicks, and started to saw at the ropes binding his hands. 

“But _you_ … you’re something special,” Hicks continued. “All of my other playmates were sobbing and wetting themselves at this point. Even Lieutenant O’Connell, the big tough Navy guy, was shrieking like a little girl by now. But here you are, making jokes, keeping that game face on. Acting like I’m _not_ about to splatter your brains halfway across the county. I have to say, it’s really quite refreshing.”

Nick kept his eyes fixed on Hicks’, despite how much it made his skin crawl. Staring into Hicks’ eyes was like staring down the barrel of a gun. In fact, Nick would have much preferred the gun.

“Happy to make a good first impression,” Nick said, continuing to rub the glass back and forth over the ropes as quickly as he dared. “I’m usually not very good at those.”

“If it’s any comfort to you, I’m definitely going to remember you.”

“I feel so special,” Nick said drily.

Hicks smiled again, then stood up, using the bat to brace himself. “As much as I’ve enjoyed our talk, Agent Torres, I think it’s time to get this show on the road. You did a good job of stalling, I’ll give you that.”

Hicks pulled a cellphone out of his jacket pocket, and Nick was surprised to recognize it as his own. He stared at it in mild disbelief. This idiot brought his phone here with them? Abby could have that traced in two seconds flat. This guy was either _very_ stupid or _very_ confident. Nick figured the latter was more likely. Which meant that Hicks wasn’t planning to drag this out at all. 

Hicks pressed a few things on the phone’s screen, then held it up to his ear. A few seconds passed, then Hicks smiled. 

“Good evening, Agent Gibbs.”


	4. Chapter 4

_I should have seen this coming._

That was the only tangible thought that would penetrate the cloud of fear and rage swirling through Gibbs’ mind, but someone who didn’t know him would think he was perfectly cool and calm. Sedate, even. His face didn’t betray a single thing. 

Someone who didn’t know him wouldn’t recognize the deadly calm of an elite Marine sniper taking aim.

It had all started over a week ago. Gabriel Hicks had finally resurfaced on their radar. Gibbs and his team had stopped him from adding Jessica Schafer to his list of victims; he should have known Hicks would lash out for that. His kills were all about proving something, proving he was strong, or some such nonsense. It was like a game to him. And he could not abide losing. To lose was to be humiliated, and he simply couldn’t handle that. He was like a child throwing a tantrum over being denied a treat.

So Hicks punished them by targeting one of their own. 

The car sped down the deserted back roads, Gibbs’ foot practically pushing the gas pedal through the floor of the car. Bishop was in the front seat, saying absolutely nothing about the terrifying speed, but definitely gripping the “oh shit” handle has hard as she could. McGee was back at HQ, assisting Abby with tracking Torres’ phone.

“You’re almost there, Gibbs,” Abby’s voice said through Ellie’s phone. “The signal has remained where it stopped. Less than ten more minutes.”

Gibbs said nothing, only pressed on the gas harder.

They’d only gotten this much of a jump on Hicks out of sheer luck. Gibbs and Bishop had been almost back to the Navy Yard after a knock-and-talk with a suspect on a different case, and they agreed the best cure for a long day was a hot cup of java. Ellie had been the one to recognize Torres’ truck parked outside the diner they all frequented; he had obviously also stopped in for a coffee refill or perhaps a quick dinner on his way back into the office. But when Gibbs went inside, Torres was nowhere to be seen.

Gibbs hadn’t thought anything of it—Torres could have been using the bathroom or any other of a dozen scenarios—but then when he was walking back outside to his own car, a fresh coffee in each hand for himself and Bishop, he had seen the small white rectangle lying on the ground next to Torres’ truck. Thinking Torres had dropped a credit card or something, Gibbs had picked it up, only to discover that it was Torres’ driver’s license. 

With a smear of fresh blood across the picture.

Gabriel Hicks’ calling card.

Gibbs had immediately called Abby to start tracking Torres’ phone, a hail-Mary move that he had no business actually working. After all, Hicks was no idiot. He would know to leave any trackable tech behind. But it _had_ worked, which only made Gibbs more nervous. He and Bishop had been chasing the signal ever since, following it further and further outside the city proper.

Neither Gibbs nor Bishop were expecting it when Gibbs’ phone started to ring. He picked it up and saw Torres’ name in the caller ID box, making his heart sink. He flipped open the ancient phone and pressed it to his ear.

“Hicks,” he said quietly. Ellie looked at him sharply.

He could practically hear the monster’s wolfish smile through the phone. “Good evening, Agent Gibbs.”

“What did you do?”

“I would think that patently obvious. You took away one of my toys, so now I’m going to _break_ one of yours.”

“Let him go,” Gibbs growled, his husky voice coated with ice. “Your beef is with me.”

“You have quite the high opinion of yourself, don’t you?” Hicks said. “Always thinking everything is your responsibility, that everything is on you. Fancy yourself some kind of romantic hero, eh Gibbs? The whole point of this is to show you how powerless you actually are. I am going to paint these woods red with Agent Torres’ brains and blood, and there is literally nothing any of you can do to stop me. You can threaten me all you want, bargain, whatever. It won’t matter. By the time you get here, he’ll be dead and I’ll be gone. And you will spend the rest of your life in _agony_ trying to figure out what you did wrong.”

Gibbs said nothing. Ellie could practically feel the temperature inside the car drop. 

“If you kill him,” Gibbs said slowly. “You’re dead. There is no rock you can crawl under that would hide you from me.”

Hicks chuckled. “Now, what did I say about threats? But I tell you what, Gibbs. I do actually owe you one, seeing as it was your stellar investigative work that sprung me from jail in the first place. Not to mention took down Agent Fornell quite a few pegs for me, which was just icing on the cake. So I’m going to do you one last solid before I disappear. I’m going to let you say goodbye.”

There was a pause and a shuffling sound, then a burst of ambient noise, indicating Hicks had turned on the speakerphone.

At first there was nothing, then…

“Gibbs.”

He swallowed thickly, nodding slightly. “You OK, Torres?”

“Oh yeah, I’m peachy,” Nick replied drily. His voice sounded strained, but clear. He was keeping it together, which was good.

“How many times are you gonna make us rescue your ass?” Gibbs said, fighting to keep his voice casual. “You got a thing for getting kidnapped?”

“You know me, I do love being dramatic.”

Hicks’ voice interrupted. “As cute as this macho little bro-fest of yours is, I am on a bit of a schedule here. You have 30 seconds left to say what you want to say.”

It felt like the walls were slowly crushing inward on Gibbs, and there was no power in the universe that could stop them. They were so close. The car was barreling down the road like a dark blue bullet, but deep in his infamous gut, Gibbs knew they weren’t going to make it in time.

“Torres,” he said. “Listen to me very carefully. I know you’re not one for rules much, but I have one that I need you to follow to the letter.”

“I’m listening,” Nick answered quietly.

“Rule 48.”

Nick let out a low whistle. “High forties, huh? McGee told me you only pull those out in emergencies. I must be in even bigger trouble than I thought. Which one is 48?”

There was a pause, then:

“Haz lo que sea necesario para sobrevivir.”

At first there was no reaction, then Nick chuckled darkly. “Did you come up with that rule just for me?”

Gibbs smirked. “Technically the rule precedes you, but I assumed you would need it at some point.”

“Your 30 seconds is up,” Hicks’ voice said impatiently. 

“Hang on, Nick,” Gibb managed to say before the line cut out.

Gibbs closed his phone and pressed his foot harder onto the gas.


	5. Chapter 5

Hicks tapped the button to the end the call. Nick could discern the slightest hint of confusion and annoyance on the killer’s face, the first sign of a chip in his calm, cool façade.

Nick smirked, remembering Gibbs’ words. Something told him that Gabriel Hicks didn’t speak Spanish.

Haz lo que sea necesario para sobrevivir. 

_Do whatever it takes to survive._

Nick decided since Gibbs had managed to both send him a message of hope and annoy his captor in one fell swoop, he could forgive him the god-awful gringo accent for now.

The message was loud and clear: His team was coming, but he had to stay alive just a little longer. Kind of hard to do when his hands were literally tied. But he kept up sawing away at the rope with the precious little piece of taillight glass, mentally willing Hicks to not notice what he was doing behind his back. 

Hicks snorted and shook his head, like a beast shooing off a tedious fly buzzing around its head. He tossed Nick’s phone onto the ground, then took the metal bat in two hands, squeezing the leather grips almost lovingly.

Hicks looked Nick dead in the eye. “You NCIS types,” Hicks said. “I’ll say one thing for you people: You sure do keep those heads up, even when you’re literally staring Death in the face.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Hicks,” Nick snapped. “You want to be feared? You’re nothing but a scared little nobody. Twisted. Weak. Coward—”

“Shut up!” Hicks barked. The woods echoed hollowly.

“Oh, did I touch a nerve there?” Nick continued mercilessly. His blood was thrumming in his ears like a drumbeat counting down the seconds he had left. “You’re so used to picking on innocent people who can’t fight back, aren’t you? People who are scared to die because they had homes and families and _lives_ waiting for them. You’re pathetic.”

Hicks swung the bat with a roar. Nick flinched as it clanged against the tree above his head, showering him with shattered bits of bark.

Breathing hard, Hicks reset his grip on the bat. He took a deep breath and let it out slow, then grinned. “You’re infuriating as hell, you know that?”

“I have been told that, yes.” 

Hicks hoisted the bat up onto his shoulder. “I usually have my victims kneel facing away from me when I kill them. It’s so much more humane that way, when they don’t see it coming. Just _bam_. Lights out. Like pigs through the slaughterhouse. But you’re not like most people, are you, Agent Torres? And to reward you for that, I’m going to do you the honor of looking you in the eye while I kill you.”

Nick swallowed. The ropes were definitely starting to fray; he could feel the fibrous tendrils tickling his bruised and torn-up wrists.

Hicks shifted his stance, planting his feet more solidly.

Nick stared him down, refusing to show a single hint of fear. 

_Always keep your hands up, mijo_ , his father’s voice said in his head.

The bat came off the killer’s shoulder— _his_ killer.

Gibbs’ words thundered through Nick’s skull.

_Do whatever it takes to survive._

His bloody fingers sawed faster. 

Hicks raised the bat, a sick grin plastered on his face.

_Hands up!_

A tendril of the rope broke, but the rest was still holding firm.

Hicks pulled back.

_STAY ALIVE._

The ropes snapped.

The bat swung down.


	6. Chapter 6

Ellie was out of the car practically before Gibbs had slammed the brakes. Their car skidded a few inches on the loose gravel path, rocks spraying the parked car next to them like machine gun fire. 

“Hicks’ car,” she said, drawing her weapon.

Gibbs barely spared the other vehicle a two-second glance, just long enough to take in the busted taillight and confirm the plate number. “Talk to me, Abbs.”

They had switched in their earbuds shortly before pulling off the main road so Abby could talk to them directly—and covertly, in case Hicks was waiting to ambush them somewhere nearby.

“Due east, about a quarter-mile,” Abby’s voice said in their ears. “That’s as exact as I can get you. The dense tree cover is messing with the signal.”

Gibbs drew his own weapon.

“Go get him,” Abby’s voice said, almost too quietly to hear. “Bring Nick home.”

Without another word, Gibbs and Ellie plunged through the undergrowth, every sense on high alert. Dusk was coming on fast; the sunset at their backs drenched everything in saturated tones of gold and red. Even so, they could clearly see a trail where someone had dragged something along—something big.

Something big… and pissed off, judging by the erratic nature of the trail and occasional deep gouges in the earth.

Gibbs shoved down every uncontrollable feeling deep into his gut, letting his calm Marine instincts take over. Every twig snap, every whisper of a breeze through the brush, seemed as loud as bell chimes. He could hear Ellie’s measured breathing not far to his right as they jogged deeper into the forest, their training the only thing keeping them from breaking into a dead sprint. They both knew letting their emotions get the best of them could very well get them both killed. Charging full-tilt into unknown territory was suicide at best.

To Ellie, the journey through the trees felt interminable. With every step she had to push away the voice in her head telling her that Nick was already dead. That they hadn’t acted quickly enough, that no matter how fast they ran now, it was too late. She bit back the ache in her throat and the burn in her chest, stifling everything but the steady in-and-out of her breath despite the crazed urge to scream Nick’s name over and over until the whole forest rang with it. 

The quiet was crushing.

And then she saw it. A dark, twisted shape on the ground, lying still beneath a tree not fifty yards ahead. Judging by the sudden stutter in Gibbs’ step, he saw it too.

They slowed, methodically scanning every inch of the woods, searching for the slightest breath of movement as they approached. There was none. Nothing even so much as a bird alighting on a branch. 

The shadows grew deeper as the shape grew larger and longer, settling itself into the form of a man’s body lying on its side with its back to them. 

Between the mud and the twilight and the blood—oh, there was so much blood—it was impossible to tell who it was. It was difficult to tell the color of the man’s skin, soaked in red and discolored with lifelessness as it was. It was difficult to tell the color of the man’s hair, nearly matted black with gore and mud. It was difficult to even tell the color of the man’s shirt.

Ellie racked her brain, every cell of her being zeroing in on that one detail. _What color shirt had Nick been wearing that morning?_ Such an insignificant question suddenly held the answer to life itself.

Ellie and Gibbs approached the body slowly. She glanced at him to find he was watching her steadily, his ice-blue gaze crackling with a hundred words. 

He stepped forward and slowly knelt on one knee. He reached out with one hand and placed it on the shoulder. He slowly rolled the body onto its back. 

Ellie’s breath left her in a rush and the tides seem to roar in her ears even though they were miles upon miles away from the ocean.

Eyes. Wide and glassy in death.

… _Blue_ eyes.

Hicks. It was _Hicks_. 

Gabriel Hicks was dead. 

_But then…_

Gibbs and Ellie looked at each other. Then they looked all around them, peering through the swiftly darkening trees.

“Nick?” Ellie called.

“Torres!” Gibbs barked.

Only the terrible silence answered them.

In an unspoken agreement, Gibbs peeled off to the right and Ellie veered to the left, leaving Hicks’ broken shell forgotten where it lay.

The woods thrummed with their shouts, splintering their voices into fractured echoes that bounded away into the oncoming night, in desperate search of something lost.

“Nick!”

“Torres, can you hear me?”

“NICK, WHERE ARE YOU?”


	7. Chapter 7

**7 minutes earlier**

_Hicks raised the bat, a sick grin plastered on his face._

Hands up!

_A tendril of the rope broke, but the rest was still holding firm._

_Hicks pulled back._

STAY ALIVE.

_The ropes snapped._

_The bat swung down._

 

-(x)-

 

Fire.

A flash of white-hot fire… or perhaps white- _cold_ fire would be more accurate, but somewhere in the way back of his awareness Nick knew that made absolutely no sense.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and it felt as though that simple motion was pulling his whole body tight, to the point where it threatened to snap open like a rubber band. He opened his eyes, but the world just continued to spin in a blurry fog. He closed them one more time, fighting the urge to puke. 

Someone was laughing. _Who could be laughing at a time like this? The world has gone completely off its axis!_

A shadow bent over him. Nick tried to drag himself away… for some reason. He couldn’t remember why he needed to get away, but his body sure seemed to think he ought to.

Something glinted red: A small shard of glass, glinting like an uncut ruby in the shadow’s hand.

“Wow. You grabbed this the second you broke my tail light, didn’t you?” The shadow’s voice sounded like it was leaking up from some underwater crevasse long forgotten by the light. “Very, _very_ clever Agent Torres! As much as I hate to admit it, I’m impressed!”

When his mind still refused to make sense of anything on its own, Nick’s body took control, forcing cold air into his lungs until they threatened to burst. His heart thundered steadily, like a drill sergeant screaming _get up… get up… get up… get up… GET UP…_

The smell of dry earth and dead leaves slammed into his senses, and when Nick opened his eyes he could finally see. Gabriel Hicks stood above him, a metal bat clenched in one hand. The end of the bat sported a smear of blood.

_Is that_ … my _blood?_

And then he remembered. 

The ropes binding Nick’s hands had snapped just as Hicks swung the killing-blow. Before he’d actually made the conscious decision to move, Nick’s arms were up in a boxer’s defense: head slightly ducked, hands curled into fists, elbows bent, wrists about level with his ears.

The bat smashed into his left forearm. He felt his bones effortlessly splinter and snap like matchsticks. Pain like he hadn’t felt in a long time lanced through his body, igniting every nerve along the way. But less than a second later, everything went quiet as the bat continued its fatal trajectory, merely slowed by his arm, and slammed into his skull, just above and a little behind his left ear. 

He didn’t remember falling to his side. 

Nick blinked, coming back to himself. He was somehow blessedly, _painfully_ alive. 

He looked up to find Hicks watching him with a hungry look in his eyes. The killer shook his head in bemusement, tossing the piece of red glass away to be lost in the brush. 

“I’m almost a little embarrassed!” Hicks remarked, regaining a proper grip on the bat. “I’ve never needed two hits before!”

Nick struggled to sit up, but he was so weak he might as well have been pinned under a steel slab. His broken arm shrieked in protest of any movement, and he choked back a pained scream. 

“M…M…” Nick grimaced and spat the bile from his mouth, then tried again. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. “Ma…ma always… s-said I had a… a thick skull.”

Hicks smiled down at him like one might look down condescendingly on a silly child. “Sucks for you, though, doesn’t it? You could be comfortably dead right now if you’d just let me do my thing and be done with it. But no, you had to be stubborn. Now I have to _make you feel it_.”

Nick barely registered the movement before Hicks’ boot was slamming into his stomach over and over again. His body was too far in shock to even bother vomiting. The air left his lungs in a rush, his vision going gray at the edges. Nick tried to draw his knees up to his chest to protect himself from the cruel onslaught, but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate. It was as if his body was already a corpse, but his mind just hadn’t quite grasped the concept yet.

Finally he managed to curl himself into a ball. Part of him hated doing something so demeaning, but the part of him that wanted to survive quickly overruled the feeling.

He _had_ to survive. 

After all, it was Rule 48. 

Nick didn’t see Hicks give up on kicking and hoist the bat again, but he did feel it crash into his exposed side. His brain didn’t really register the feeling of his ribs cracking, but he heard the unholy sound of bone and cartilage grinding together and breaking apart like dominoes being shuffled. 

His body couldn’t take much more of this. And even if it could, Hicks knew he was on the clock. He’d let go of his fun of pounding Nick into dust and finish the job any second, knowing that Gibbs would be here any minute. 

_DO SOMETHING_ , his mind screamed to his body. _NOW._

Just as the bat came down one more time, Nick raised his broken left arm—the pain was nothing but white noise now—and by some miracle trapped the bat under his armpit and _pulled_. 

Hicks, not expecting his weapon to get stuck, was yanked forward, wildly off-balance.

Nick lashed out with his legs, one foot hooking neatly behind Hicks’ ankle, the other kicking at his knee with every last shred of strength he could gather.

There was a loud, sickening _pop_ as Hicks fell, his dead weight pulling him one way as his leg crumpled in the opposite direction. He screamed, dropping his grip on the bat, crashing to the ground in a heap, clutching his ruined knee. 

Nick had known a few guys—football players mostly—who’d torn ACLs, the big ligament connecting the primary leg bones, in the past. He knew it hurt like a bitch. Savage triumph flooded him, knowing he’d finally managed to reflect even a small taste of misery back on Hicks. And better yet, even if Hicks finished killing Nick and tried to get away, there was no way he’d be able to run away fast enough to escape Gibbs now. He’d be lucky to even make it back to his car before all the thunderous fury of NCIS rained down on him.

Hicks writhed in the dirt, trying to get his feet back under him. This was the only chance Nick was ever going to get. 

Feeling as thought gravity itself was trying extra-hard to pull him back down, Nick somehow managed to drag himself to his knees. Then he stood the bat on its thick end, using it to haul himself to his feet, leaning on it heavily like a perverse cane. 

Hicks rolled into a hunched sitting position, snarling.

Nick’s left arm was tucked limply to his battered side, useless. He wasn’t sure he could lift it if he tried.

Hicks got up the one good knee he had left, his back to Nick. 

Nick’s legs wobbled treacherously, his vision going in and out of focus. The pain was quiet now, replaced by a hollow chill that seemed to seep into his blood on a molecular level. Nick took one staggering step toward Hicks, then another…

Hicks began to stand, turning to face Nick…

Just as the bat smashed into the side of his head. 

The devastating blow from Nick’s one-handed swing sent Hicks’ spine twisting like a corkscrew, and his body spun in a crude parody of a dance. A spray of blood exploded from the impact site as his skull cracked like an egg, and Hicks’ eyes rolled up in their sockets as he crumpled to the ground. He landed on his side and was utterly still.

Nicked stumbled forward a step, the momentum nearly dragging him down alongside the body of his would-be murderer. The bat dropped from numb fingers. 

He swayed dangerously. 

_Just a little longer_ , he pleaded, though he wasn’t sure to whom. 

He forced himself to move closer. He had to know. 

Nick leaned over as far as he dared. Hicks’ face was drenched in sticky red, his lifeless blue eyes wide in surprise. He was dead. 

“Always… keep your hands… _up_ ,” Nick croaked. He spat toward Hicks’ body, then turned away. 

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes and throat burning. It was over. 

Well, mostly.

Nick didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to support his own weight. Everything that could still move shook violently, sending jolts of fresh pain zipping up and down his whole body. An even deeper, more terminal cold was setting in under his skin. He needed help. 

Surely the team knew where he was by now. He thought he could almost feel them drawing closer, but it wouldn’t matter soon. He needed to get back to the road. 

Leaving Hicks where he was, Nick stumbled away. _Which way was the road?_ He racked his memory—was it really only a few minutes ago that he’d been dragged from Hicks’ trunk? He vaguely remembered that Hicks had tromped through the woods in a fairly straight line from the road to the tree. But he was having a hard time figuring what was “straight” with his vision swiveling in and out the way it was. His head ached fiercely where the bat had struck him, threatening to knock him out any second now.

Nick didn’t know how long he staggered through the trees. The only thing driving him onward was the need to close the distance between himself and his team. 

His team… and his family. After so many years alone, not even always sure who he was anymore as he slipped from cover to cover, immersing himself in every dark and bloody corner of the globe, he’d finally found a home. 

Nick didn’t feel it when he fell to his knees. He barely even realized he’d stopped moving. The blackness was coming now, gathering at the edges of his vision. And he was overcome with the growing feeling that he wasn’t making it out of this one. His body had been broken far beyond what it could take, and now it was failing.

But despite that feeling of impending quiet, Nick found himself at peace. He’d tried his best to follow the rule— _what number was it again…?_ —and he thought Gibbs would probably be able to forgive him for failing to obey one last order. After all, even though he’d gotten himself killed in the process, he’d at least managed to take his murderer with him. And now Gabriel Hicks was dead, the world safe from one more monster. 

His victims—including Nick—could rest now.

Nick closed his eyes. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.


	8. Chapter 8

"Nick! Nick, can you hear me?"

Ellie's voice seemed to fragment into razor-like shards of glass, breaking against the impenetrable silence of the woods. Darkness was coming on quickly now, chasing away the last remnants of the day's warmth.

Somewhere behind her she could hear Gibbs' voice calling out as he searched in the opposite direction. With each step it seemed like her thudding heartbeat got louder and his voice got quieter.

Ellie shoved down the dread pooling in her stomach and raised her hands to either side of her mouth. "NICK!"

What if he couldn't hear her because he was…

Ellie shook herself fiercely. _No. Stop it, Eleanor. Don't even go there._

She trudged ahead a few more feet, shoving aside brambles and crunching through dead leaves and brittle twigs with probably more force than was necessary. She was about to yell again, then stopped.

There. Thirty feet ahead: A dark shape on the ground that looked out of place.

A body.

Ellie closed the distance at a dead sprint and dropped to her knees in front of him. He was lying on his stomach, eyes closed, arms and legs splayed awkwardly as if he'd dropped while in motion.

Ellie's throat seized, her breath coming in a strangled wheeze.

"Gibbs!" she cried, but it was barely a squeak. She swallowed thickly and forced her voice to tear through the fear that was binding it. "GIBBS! OVER HERE!"

Far-off crashing told her the boss was on his way. Ellie bent down closer to Nick, gently feeling for a pulse at his neck. When she felt it—weak, but _there_ —she thought for sure her heart would explode with relief.

As gently as she could manage, she hooked one hand under his right arm and placed the other on his left shoulder, then gingerly rolled him onto his back, cradling him in her lap.

"Nick?" she whispered. He didn't so much as twitch. A horrible gash marred the left side of his head, sticky half-dried blood coating his ear, temple and the side of his neck. His left arm lay at an odd angle, probably broken. His breath was painfully shallow, his chest barely rising and falling.

Ellie bit her lip until the threat of tears faded. She wouldn't cry over him like some lovesick damsel in an old black-and-white film; Nick would never let her hear the end of it. Instead she placed a hand against his face, his skin far too cool under her palm.

"Nick, can you hear me?" she asked, forcing her voice to be clear and calm. "Open your eyes."

Slight movement flickered beneath his eyelids, as if he were trying to obey but simply couldn't force his body to do so.

Gibbs appeared at her side, dropping down to the ground next to her. Without a word he pulled off his warm jacket and gently draped it over Nick.

"He needs a hospital," Ellie said.

Gibbs nodded once, curtly, his face betraying zero emotion. "Bus is on the way."

Ellie nodded, holding as still as possible to avoid jostling Nick. She couldn't even begin to image what horror he had faced. He'd been hunted by a monster, only to slay _it_ instead.

Gibbs shuffled closer to them until he and Ellie were like two walls protecting Nick where he lay fighting for every breath. Nick's right hand lay limply on the ground, uncovered by the jacket, and Gibbs took it in his own, mentally willing his agent and friend to hang on.

"Torres," he said quietly. "The fight isn't over yet. Rule 48 still applies. So no giving up, hear me? Stay with us, brother."

Ellie watched her boss and mentor, her heart full of familial love and respect. They were a team, and the team meant family.

Nick had been through hell, but they had him now. He was in their arms, and he was alive.

All they had to do was hang on.


	9. Chapter 9

Ellie and Gibbs sat silently for what felt like an eternity, barely daring to breathe as they held Nick between them. Between all the blood on the left side of his face, the ashen pallor of his usually warm brown skin and the fact that he never stirred, Ellie found herself having to constantly remind herself that Nick was still alive in her arms. That if she could just hold on to him long enough, everything would be fine.

But despite her reminders, she still found herself staring hard at his chest, waiting to see the telltale rise and fall of his breath. She held her own as she watched, as if she could keep him breathing simply by refusing to take any air for herself.

Gibbs was like stone at her side, only peeling his eyes away from Nick long enough to check his watch once. And then, finally, salvation. Sirens sounded in the near-distance, growing louder by the second. They didn’t dare move Nick, so Ellie stayed behind while Gibbs left to go back to the road, to guide the paramedics in. 

The next few hours passed in a blur of sirens and multicolored lights. When the medics had gone to lift Nick from Ellie’s arms, she had opened her mouth to snarl at them, but a calming hand on her shoulder from Gibbs had stilled her protective instincts. Instead she had let them take him from her, had let Gibbs help her to her feet, and had let him lead her from those blood-infested woods.

As Nick was loaded into the back of the ambulance, Ellie had reluctantly started toward the car, but Gibbs stopped her with a murmured, “Bishop.”

She looked at him, seeing that he suddenly looked older than she’d ever seen him. 

“Go with him,” Gibbs said quietly.

Her heart leapt, and without a second glance she climbed into the ambulance behind the paramedic. She took the seat next to the stretcher and leaned forward closely. 

“We’re almost home, Nick,” she whispered, taking his hand in hers. “Stay with me.”

His brow furrowed slightly, almost as if he heard her voice and was trying find her in the dark.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’ve got you.”

She held Nick’s hand the entire way to the hospital. 

-(x)-

_Stay with me._

Nick tried to turn his head to look for where the voice was coming from, but his body refused to cooperate. 

_Stay… where?_ he thought.

What happened? The last thing he remembered was falling… falling… down through the forest floor and sinking into the darkness beneath. All the pain was snuffed like a candle flame and everything was still. But now…

Nick listened, his ears slowly picking up on random sounds, like a machine slowly rebooting. Soft beeping nearby. The hush of air from a vent overhead. Incoherent voices somewhere behind a wall. 

He felt the pain then, but it was dull now, as if someone had skillfully packed it all away in cotton and wool. His head was a dull throb, his arm barely more than a muffled twinge. He was warm. His body was cradled in something soft.

Nick opened his eyes. 

Light assaulted him, forcing him to blink heavily a few times until his vision cleared. He swallowed heavily, throat dry as a bone. He blinked again, shifting slightly as his muscles slowly woke up. A little above him to the left, a machine monitored his vital signs, the beeps steadily increasing beat by beat as his body came back to itself.

To his right, someone drew in a sharp breath. There was a rustle of paper and the muted _thunk_ of a book being shut. 

“Nick?”

Gingerly he turned his head toward the voice, the same one that had called to him in the dark.

Ellie’s face split into a grin, her eyes were red-rimmed and tired. She leaned forward in the chair next to his bed, a book resting on her lap. “Hey.”

Nick blinked at her. “Hey,” he whispered back, his voice hoarse and thin.

“It’s OK, you’re in the hospital,” she said slowly, taking one of his hands in hers. 

“Figured,” he choked. “How… long?”

Her smile flickered. “You’ve been unconscious for four days. Kinda had us worried there for a while.”

Memories from that night, the one he thought for sure would be his last, trickled in faster and faster. He swallowed again, trying to tamp down the fear that had begun to rise unbidden in his chest.

“Hicks?”

She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “It’s over, Nick. You got him.”

The fear that maybe he’d been wrong, that maybe the monster had survived somehow, receded. Nick let out a long breath.

Ellie leaned down a planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. He looked up at her, startled.

“What… was that for?”

She smiled. “For not making me have to find a new partner. We’d just gotten you broken in! It would have sucked to have had to train another newbie just because you’d gone and gotten yourself killed. Don’t you _ever_ do that again. Got it?”

Nicked smirked up at her. “Got it.”

THE END


End file.
